Deathtrap Donald: America's Failing Fantasy
by Quillon42
Summary: Two adventurers from the Fighting Fantasy world of Titan arrive on an alternate Earth to battle their way through a mockery of America as it seems to be today. Incidental spoilers for a number of Fighting Fantasy books. First installment posted as of now and more to follow in the near future.
1. Chapter 1

(This is just the Prologue in a sense to the five-installment-total or so story I'm going to write here (it will have a Prologue, three main Chapters, and an Epilogue here)). I will admit right away that I punkassily just read through all the references (in a logical order, of course, according to the choices) and I don't really "play" the books; I've still read about thirty of these so far, though, so I have a good deal of exposure to them. Hope everyone enjoys this one and the chapters to come in the next few weeks).

DEATHTRAP DONALD: AMERICA'S FAILING FANTASY

By Quillon42

BACKGROUND OF ADVENTURE

In a most savage and sadistic era, in the Flying-Spaghetti-Monster-forsaken-spurned-migrated land called Allamurica, two newcomers to the realm alight, they initially seeking to realize their dreams and pledge allegiance to this alleged potentate of the first world. Having been weary of warfaring for every ounce of sustenance that they could muster, they earned one last fortune and forked the money over to a magician who could pattern a portal to an alternate Earth.

What the Hero and Heroine cannot ken is that they currently occupy a planet on which far more treachery transpires upon its tectonics than Titan. This hellish body, this sphere known not as Earth in fact but as Drumpfoundland, is ruled over by a psychotic despot who has converted Allamurica from a nation of opportunity to a netherworld of ordeal. Far more nefarious than zany Zagor or bastardly Balthus Dire dastard, this megalomaniac has made every ingredient of the melting pot poorer in resources and resolve—at least, until these crude crusaders would arrive to equalize affairs.

But the stronghold that so stands before these warriors—this obstacle which ostensibly stretches for kilometers upon kilometers in either direction—it will certainly stand to test these traversers' reserves of Skill, Stamina, Luck, and Otherwise. Just as a certain death-diffuse Dungeon on Titan claimed through its Trial so many Champions, just as that Walk presented so many hazards and horrors that harrowed the souls from so many sword-swingers, so too does this Wall contain many machinations and monsters that siphoned the spirits from hordes of border-crossers. Indeed, only the most masterful and mettlesome of adventurers could hope to break through this baleful barrier.

Then one would wonder what of that which would become our explorers of the incontinental contiguous States from there. Well, upon the absconding of Hero and Heroine from the Wall, each would be met with teeming tribes of terrors, ranging from the rednecks to bluebloods of the east leaning on one hand, as well as from the green stoners to the yellow whiners of the west persuasion on the other. All of these factions of fucks, in a jumble of Allamurican jurisdictions, are to be eradicated by this pair of paladins before their wend through this harried hemisphere is through.

Particularly the abodes of these abominations would prove precariously perilous in themselves as well. Ranging from mountains of maliciousness, to valleys of vitriol, and then to cities of seething sleaze, these two knights of right must cross and conquer it all before they can reach what would in effect be at least the four hundredth reference to put them both at rest. The Hero and Heroine would encounter nimble, pragmatic, and cooperative NPCs who will assist them here and there…but the brunt of this ginormous junket must be journeyed through all on their own.

Regarding the identities and appearances of these iconic journeypeople, the Heroine Eacnuinge Tunneltrucker is bedecked in a bikini and stiletto pumps and wields a standard-issue sword as well as a mattock; the Hero, Fraoemare Hiltclinch, is swaddled in a speedo and Doc Martens and brandishes a standard-issue sword as well as a sledgehammer. Incidentally, the Hero wears goggles along with his getup, while the Heroine does not; this sole disparity renders the clothing schematic utterly Chauvinist, this author acknowledges. Neither of these negators of the nefarious is fitted with socks.

Each of these two additionally possesses a pack with ten Provisions (basically this amounts to the two of them hauling middle school bookbags filled with uncooked TV Dinners and Slurpees). Further, each may choose, before embarking on this misery-miring mission, from one of three Potions. Specifically, the Potion of Centrism (available in fermented liquid form) brings the Hero or Heroine back to the political middle, so that he or she does not fall victim to the extremely ramrod Right or the overly loopy Left in the course of travel; the Potion of Stability (in pill form) restores enough lucidness so that either adventurer no longer feels inclined, in a given situation, to stab or clobber the self into suicide after having been exposed to so many of the unbearable inhabitants of Allamurica; and the Potion of Pecuniousness (in stamp form) restores the wealth possessed by the challengers, as the economic imbalance in the country is so pronounced that utter loss of funds cannot be recovered any other way.

What would decide the fates of these fantastic fighters more than anything would not in fact be the combat prowess or the persevering courage of either, but rather the chance of either or both of them happenstantially tripping upon whatever random item or information they would need to bypass certain checkpoints along the way. Because the future of an entire nation's constituents should really depend upon the errant occasioning of such arbitrary, even if fortunate, flukes in fact.

Yes, wistfully recalling much more natural choice-choked challenges in pleasurable paperbacks such as _The Cave of Time_ and _The Lost Jewels of Nabooti_ , those readers who cherished the _Choose Your Own Adventure_ series may now find themselves confounded by the Groundhog-Day-grind of going through branches of decisions again and again till reaching the one effing good ending amidst droves of demises. Indeed, fans of gamebooks will here have their characters suffer death and demoralization almost ad infinitum till they find the "One True Path" in a completely logical and utterly intuitive manner, a method that would in fact perplex even Edward fucking Packard. So it is the case as Eacnunige and Fraoemare now trundle impetuously to the entrance of the Wall—that border bastion serving as the woeful welcome mat to Allamurica, the infamous Country of Thieves.

 **NOW** (R.A. Montgomery) **TURN** (s) **OVER** (in his grave)


	2. Chapter 2

DEATHTRAP DONALD: AMERICA'S FAILING FANTASY

PART TWO OF THREE TOTAL

By Quillon42

 **SEGMENT ONE: DEATHTRAP DONALD (THE BORDER WALL IN TEXAS)**

Frazzled indeed are Fraoemare and Eacnuinge as they trudge through the internal chambers of the Wall. As with the video-virtual representation of this contest as it was literally played out by thousands on the Playstation 1, the fighters are met by furious fireballs flung by cantankerous cannons on either side of each corridor, collapsing floor tiles which might cause less careful champions to experience a most untoward impalement under the earth, and otherwise voids seemingly bottomless (yet here consisting of only a mile or so drop, in actuality, before an unfortunate adventurer found himself or herself gibbed most messily atop a pile of election-relevant emails with the Kremlin).

Efforts are strong by Eacnuinge and Fraoemare to traverse the width of the Wall, which as it would turn out is three miles thick. Not unlike the first quest of a very Rare knight during a time of Wizards and Warriors, here too these wayfarers found themselves bribing some enemies within the Wall who might have opposed them as the Coyotes did. Fortunately morality was never a palpable consideration for many subjects in the Dreamworld of Drumpf in fact.

Very first among the foes which the fantasy fighters must face is a monstrous abomination of intolerance, someone who has wished to inhibit immigration of so many individuals for oodles of decades. This alt-right-ard RICHARD SPENCER approaches the pairing with a swastika on a stick, he pretending that the perditious prop is some kind of magnificent mace. Thankfully for the audacious adventurers, the skill and intelligence level of this enemy is relatively, or rather absolutely low, so he does not really stand to put up much of a battle.

RICHARD SPENCER OF THE ALT RIGHTERS

Stamina: 5

Skill: 1

Wiping off their sharp and blunt instruments alike after dispatching this dubious introductory enemy, Fraoemare and Eacnuinge find along the floor a strange container of a sort. Within is a topaz-tinted tincture, an oily-hued liquid which appears to be the furthest thing from drinkable. What is more, upon unstoppering the foul flask and taking a whiff, the Heroine becomes beset with the most fetid of odors, causing her to lose one Stamina point. Resolutely, the heroes nonetheless decide to take the bottle with them, to perhaps use as a weapon against those who might fall upon them in this Dungeon.

As the two then take down another series of styrofoam hallways within this wooziest of Walls, the ears of the alluring Heroine perk up an instant, as she swears she can hear some kind of bombastic selection from a stage musical playing. Quickly the adventurers move towards the crescendoing whimsical theme, they mystified to find merely a curtained cage before them.

"Hurry!" so pleads a voice from beyond the dismal drapery. "I know I'm bound for fame! My _Dancing With The Stars_ audition awaits! I can perform best with this _Miss Saigon_ overture!"

With much haste, the assiduous adventurers tug hard at the hemp rope which draws up the shadowy sheet obscuring the maiden within from the rest of this dingy scene. Fortunately the Hero and

Heroine failed to make direct eye contact with the entity facing them now, as her look, Medusalike in its haughtiness and bitterness, would have petrified these plunderers in an honest picosecond.

Beneath the curtain indeed is an Olympic prima donna, an athlete most elegant, yet latently somewhat obnoxious as well. Her family originally hailing from Japan, yet the girl herself growing up in the Golden State, she acts now post the 2018 Winter Games to enforce against anyone who thinks she deserved the tenth berth to which she fell regarding the standings in Pyeongchang. She attacks her enemies with the vicious freestyle blades which had performed admittedly amazing axels, but now seeks only to slash up otherworldly asses like those of Fraoemare and Eacnuinge.

MIRAI NAGASU

Stamina: 10

Talent: 10(th Place)

After this incident, the sledgehamming-speedoer Fraoemare notices upon the ground yet another curious item, here a slab of decomposed beef indeed. Carefully the man gouges at the gristle with his sword, he rustling up the well done side of meat and flipping it quickly into his bookbag.

Several canterings past crossbow bolts and gaggings through poison gases later, and the pair find themselves faced with a strange plastic chute. Ever so gentlemanly Hero allows Heroine to go first, neither knowing where the eff the synthetic slide leads to in fact. As such, with a snide sneer at her brother in arms, Eacnuinge takes the first tumble down the drop, each of them eventually coming to rest in a slithery pool of foul slime.

Untowardly so aroused by the alighting of the adventurers, an incredible enemy of an entity arises from all the miserable miasmal muck. It is not the oversized worm or maggot known by both adventurers as being from the close of the original Trial of Champions, however, but rather what appears to be a semblance of a boy encased in a humongous automaton.

"You have reached the other edge of the Wall," emits the unthinkable machine-creature before the both of them, the latter wiping themselves of so much ooze while being addressed. "Along your journey herein, you should have encountered many of what my family consider to be "precious gems," products of various businesses of our clan in fact."

Now would come the real testing of the Heroes' resourcefulness.

"Did you happen to come across a Trump Vodka?"

Eacnuinge hesitated a moment then, but a second later nodded understandingly and produced that topaz-tinted bottle which smelled so dreadfully awful.

"Good!" said the unctuous infantile automaton. "Now how about a Trump Steak?"

Fraoemare cradled his chin with the webbing of his hand a second, then snapped his fingers briskly. With much elan he whisked out the decomposed side of beef he discovered on the tiles of this detestable Dungeon so many minutes earlier.

"Excellent. Finally, I will ask if you managed to discover a Trump Kewpie in your travels."

At this the duo could only look at one another and shrug helplessly. To be sure, there were a myriad of such fetishes of the oh so fearless leader inside of Allamurica (see Google Images for approximations here), but there were none within the Dungeon, at least not which Fraoemare and Eacnuinge had unconvered.

Glowering with rage at this last, negative response, the mewling mechanism before them approached aggressively, it reaching with its murderous pincers to pry the life out of its opponents. Terrified the two looked at the BROODBEAST that was before them, it a machine with a mannequin in it center fashioned in the likeness (and even imbued with a bit of the actual DNA) of Barron Trump, the precocious son of the evil Allamurican leader. This creation was inspired by the sniping of the merciless media, which published a paper headline one day that read "BARRON, SUCK A DICK," thus showing the country's jaunty journalists at their worst. (Yes, that vulgarity was supposed to be a reference to the name of Deathtrap Dungeon's creator and contest overseer).

But now this lethal legacy of Trumpspawn was set to trample all over the Hero and Heroine unless the latter acted fast. Hopefully if the invention survived this fight, it could be mass-marketed to sovereign states all over the solar system.

BROODBEAST

Stamina: 15

Marketability: 30

Eventually the brash behemoth was brought down by Eacnuinge and Fraoemare, ending the potential of the product to be introduced all over the universe for an unaffordable price.

With the assistance of opportunistic border Coyotes on the other side of the Wall, the Hero and Heroine make their way by a van very saturated with undocumenteds (like the Hero and Heroine themselves) to the second locale of their journey, understanding now that the Deathtrap in question was not just that basest barrier per se, but rather the entirety of the country itself.

 **SEGMENT TWO: EYE OF THE OSCAR (HOLLYWOOD IN CALIFORNIA)**

After paying off their common carriers about thirty thousand in Allamurican currency to get them across the country, the Heroes alight in a Tinseltown most tarnished by scandals juicy and social justice alike. Their mission here is to filch a giant golden statue priceless in monetary, and on some low level cultural, value. In order to reach said fine figurine, however, Eacnuinge and Fraoemare must make their way through a stronghold of sleaze filled with demons called Directors, psychopaths dubbed Producers, and abominations named Actors and Actresses.

Before the doublet of daring doers could even reach any serious players in this domain of demolished dreams, however, they are beset with the requisite member of the Trump troupe, this one herself once an Actress (most notably in the unnecessary remake of _Cabin Fever_ ) before she sold her oh so innocent soul, as well as her intimate sleeve, for spousehood with the Secretary of Treasury. As this LOUISE LINTON is here to snatch the vaunted golden statue for her executive clan, and has run afoul of Mister Hiltclinch and Miss Tunneltrucker, the latter two must presently deal with the horror of (of actually some degree of hotness) before them.

LOUISE LINTON

Stamina: 15

Ever So Grudgingly Admitted Hawtness: 30

Verily Fraoemare's Skill was reduced by two points during the encounter due to pressuring interference from his southward sword, yet the two nonetheless eventually brought down the temptress, indeed the comeliest Scottish succubus since effing Morrigan Aenslund.

Some flipped-through references later and the adventurers find themselves at a seething lair which is set to face imminent doom in the near future. Yes, just as the WTC buildings suffered their sincerely and unspeakably terrible fate in September of 2001 because of terrorism, here now the TWC (specifically that of The Weinstein Company) headquarters would very soon similarly be shaken down, in a most metaphorical fashion.

Now as the Hero and Heroine set onto the top floor of said sanctum sanctorum of scum in another attempt to locate the golden statue, they are fallen upon by a creature so repulsive and abominable that they cannot believe their Allanasian eyes. What appears to be a gigantic booger on legs, an ambulatory landslide of lard, an astonishing abundance of fromunda cheese shivering into the foreground, it somehow even more virulent than the Verminspawn encountered by a desperado and dwarf in a dungeon housing an auric dragon effigy. Immediately does this WEINSPAWN wend its queasy way towards the two, maybe for battle, perhaps also for some other bodily contact most unconscionable.

WEINSPAWN

Stamina: 16

Kill-It-With-Fire-Ness: 51

No incendiary weaponry is on hand for this fight, mind you; fortunately Eacnuinge and Fraoemare manage eventually to hack to quivering kibbles this cruel blight upon all of humankind.

Seeking a break to delve into some television dinners, er, Provisions as of now, the adventurers check in on some pseudonews offered by a questionable entity known as the internets. Mystified are the two by the box office bomb and boon that are respectively the superhero showings White Hamster (which garnered only 5% on the indexed review site Decayed Kiwis) and Black Hamster (which amassed a Certified Fresh rating of 350% in crazed contrast all because reasons). As the couple attempts to comprehend the inexplicable differences between the pair of productions, the films identical save for the ethnicity of the titular protagonist, another unutterable entity makes itself known.

Shrieking out from the vicious ever-vituperative void that is the traumatic Twitterritory, it hooked into the interface with which Eacnuinge was heretofore interacting, emerges a most miserable hag resembling a primordial-slime-sired lustchild of Shannen Doherty and Sinead O'Connor. Approaching the unfathomableness of revulsion that was their last foe, this enemy too stands most terribly against the powerful paladins, the monster booming before them about how everyone is morally inferior to her, even though she accepted several gold pieces in the past from those who harmed her, and she also tramped it up like no one's business some score of years back. At any rate, the Hero and Heroine lose 10 WILL points at the mere sight and sound of this vivisect of a vixen.

It is an appallingly vile and disgusting ROSE MCGOWAN, and now they must fight it.

ROSE MCGOWAN

Stamina: 19

Hypocrisy: Incalculable

From the remains of the execrable creature now stands that statue which Fraoemare and the frau of fight had been searching for on this leg of the quest. It was given to McGowan leviathan in appeasement and a vain attempt to quiet her once more, even though she acted not in anything notable in the past year.

Hijacking the flyer of a flat earther who wished to disprove the roundness of Drumpfoundland, Eacnuinge and Fraoemare flee to the next section of their crucible so chock full of challenges.

 **SEGMENT THREE: ISLAND OF THE COMBOVER KING (PALM BEACH IN FLORIDA)**

Crash landings never felt so comforting as they did for our Heroes now, as their craft hurtled downward into the pleasantest of waters—the only pools in the Sunshine State, in fact, that were not infested with reptiles. (Well, at least of the nonhuman kind).

Yea, now Fraoemare and Eacnuinge found themselves on the outskirts of the vacation resort of that rumproast running Allamurica, that moral lacuna called Mar-A-Lago. At the gates of this gargantuan tool-luau stands suddenly the first of foes, a terrible iguana of iniquity who had the gall to go after survivors of one of the worst and most recent shootings in recent history. Yes, while the pupils of Parkland still convalesce physically and psychically from that evil, evil incident, nearly all of them sympathetic and inspiring (except perhaps for Hogg and Gonzalez, who are annoying as all effing hell), none of them deserving of the awful opprobrium of being called crisis actors as those of the ilk of the monster before the Heroes has carped.

DINESH D'SOUZA

Stamina: 6

Fireable Outrageousness: 60

In the wreckage of the weaksauce that was the media despot D'Souza, a quite sympathetic family stands before Eacnuinge and Fraoemare. It consists of a hardworking blue collar man breaking his rear end ninety hours a week at five dollars per, an endlessly toiling woman making equal sacrifice for even less pay, and a special needs child who has Rett's Syndrome and so many other conditions and maladies. Ever so touching is the portrait of steadfast affection standing before the adventurers.

Regarding this loving family now, do the Hero and Heroine:

-Attack them with their swords like complete fucking assholes (and like these books

always nonsensically give you as an option, at the most inappropriate times?)

-Offer them some Television Dinners and Slurpees also known as Provisions?

-Just talk and hang with them?

Thankfully the explorers elect to do two and three (technically bending the rules of the books in doing more than one option, but oftentimes the references go linearly towards various choices in succession anyway so eff it). Via the powwow these paladins learn that the family has sought to appeal to the Trump posse for a modest loan in exchange for their birthright, their nextborn, and all earnings of the clan on and on in perpetuity. By the end of the conversation, they give unto Fraoemare and Eacnuinge a small periodical concerning scones. Failing to understand the meaning of this, the Heroes nonetheless graciously accept the gift from the pleasant strangers and forge on ahead.

Now well within the offbeat outpost serving as the vacation home for so much undeserving vermin, the Hero and Heroine are met with a wench so undeniably odious, yet also so absolutely unavoidable. She has alighted upon this citrusy den of dire corruption in an attempt to counter the social media might of he who runs the fortress in the Trump-Tyrant's absence. For each strike scored upon this ever so lame lamia, she unfortunately "claps the hell back," or so says the pundits at Buzzfeed, and returns damage of one Stamina point each turn.

CHRISSY TEIGEN

Stamina: 13

Ubiquity: Over 9,000,000

Having barely overcome the insufferable shrew, the two after so much more moseying through Mar-A-Lago finally reach the summit of the stronghold, they encountering a human very lizardlike in fact, in behavior if not in appearance, with a beast of a brain atop him controlling the thoughts of others. The being, not the Combover King himself of course but rather one who once pulled his strings, this entity, formerly called Steve Bannon of Breitbart, now lashes out at the Heroes as a petrifying parasite who, like the Gonchong of Allansia's Fire Island, seeks to possess both Eacnuinge and Fraoemare this very instant.

THE BANCHONG

Stamina: 3

Influence: Avogadro's Number Times A Googol As Well As A Google

Having resisted the wiles of this wicked being with tests of Skill and Will, the Heroes now commandeer a corporate Space X shuttle toward the next section of their saga.

 **INTERLUDE IN ALLANASIA**

At a bawdy Tavern in that utmost fabled frontier of Fantasies of Fighting, various creatures gathered to carouse and complain of matters in their own universe. The SLIME SUCKER from Island of the Lizard King had his slimy mitts out and his maw hanging angrily open (just as he did in his illustration, at least in the original printing) as his companion, the giant horrid thing from some covers of Scorpion Swamp, showed him up but good in the game they played. It was a bad idea to engage in a billiards match with the latter, the sucka of a Sucker learned now, given that the other being was a POOL BEAST (herp derp derp).

Close by, the arachnidly-looking VERT from Space Assassin hung with the bloated BLOG from Armies of Death, each taking in some brews as they bitched about things.

"The guy I met on Cyrus's ship, he was cool," said the spidery one. "We got along real well; he wasn't all belligerent and assholy like so many other adventurers or so I've heard."

"Yeah I feel you there." The Blog said, he so named for the fact that he was a blowgun-brandishing dog creature, or at least so this author thinks (it's not like he was an internet commentator or anything, given his handle, back in 1988 when Armies of Death came out). "My guy let me live in exchange for my giving up the Crystal of Light. I almost feel like a dick for trying to knock him out and cannibalize him, really. Heard he won the Trial of Champions that one impossible time to boot."

The Vert crinkled his buggy brow. "You guys really have Crystal Light at your village? It's not that zero-calorie shit kind, is it?"

"No, not the drink…nevermind. All Crystal Light tastes like piss in any case, but anyway."

Verts nodded. "You know, like, I'm tired of getting a bad rap for looking the way I do. So many of my brothers are hostile, but me, I just like to hang and talk. But the others that resemble me make it a real uphill battle in the end. I mean, did you see the douche that was on the cover of the second Goldhawk? Actually, there were even a couple of covers, with one having a pig trussed up and shit? I still can't unsee that, and I'm sure neither could legions of children after being scarred for their entire existence from it.

"That guy just totally sucks, man; he's like the Jared Fogle of Gi-Spis."

(Said Gi-Spis being shorthand Britspeak for "Giant Spiders," just as those from the United Kingdom (from which Fighting Fantasy originated) abbreviate so much else…such as "Telly" for "Television" or "Uni" for "University" (this author has even seen "Resi" for "Resident Evil" as well somewhere or some such). Anyways…

 **SEGMENT FOUR: CAVERNS OF THE SLOVENE WIFE (NEW YORK CITY IN NEW YORK STATE)**

Into the Pond at the center of Central Park splash down Eacnuinge and Fraoemare, they recovering gradually from the spacecraft jaunt that juked them from the Southeast of Allamurica to the Northeastern Corridor of Corruption of same. Emerging from the wearied waters, the two are met almost instantly by an individual most incorrigible, someone who slithered through a suicide-themed treescape on the other side of the planet and exploited his findings to the fullest. Someone who had most likely been shat out from another jungle of jerks himself, indeed most likely a Forest of Douche.

LOGAN PAUL

Stamina: 6

Obnoxiousness: Self-Evidently Unprecedented

Every time the Heroes score a successful strike against this enemy, he then strikes himself, symbolizing the shooting of himself in the foot in deciding to make such career-compromising videos. As such, this battle only lasts a couple of turns.

Next the pair go to a place inspired by the Circus of Death from the video representation of Deathtrap Dungeon. This Showcase of SNiveLers, so named and bizarrely capitalized for the fact that all of its constituents perform for the indigestible reservoir of liberality known as Saturday Night Live, is filled with intense tents filled with freaks and flashing lights, all seeking to expose those in power while themselves looking like complete and utter classless disphits in turn.

Leading the pack of pissants is the original SNiveLer himself, the one who has called the shots on what happens on the show. Though he himself is not too visible regarding the actual presentations of the program, he is the one who determines what flies and what fucks off, so for certain he is the most culpable of this brash bunch.

LORNE MICHAELS

Stamina: 5

Smarminess (At least of the not ready for prime time players): 43 (Effing Consecutive Seasons)

Even after this superintendent of slander is taken out, he will be immediately supplanted by some edgy leftist hack and both Fraoemare and Eacnuinge will be able to look forward to being impersonated and parodied most tastelessly on the show's next smattering of segments.

Once the Hero and Heroine escape this media circus indeed, one not of so-called "journalism" of Allamurica but rather of so-called "comedy," the two make their way to a Plaza of Perdition whose walls are grafted over with glacial ice. This to accentuate the coldness and soullessness of the entire Trumpire which stands as the territory of these fifty abject states. Soon the fighters battle their way to the top of this tetchiest of Towers, so they may face off with possibly the most pitiable enemy they are herein made to face.

MELANIA TRUMP

Stamina: 1 (Only because she has to put up with so much crap day after day after day)

Lamentability: Limitless (Well, at least a lot here, considering all of the circumstances)

This confrontation does not consist of a physical battle, but rather—just as with the Snow Witch of Fighting Fantasy fame—a climactic guessing game, but unlike the rock/paper/scissors one there, here one in which the Heroes have to deduce which speech Mrs. Trump lifted the rhetoric she now levels at the warriors.

After having read up on so many Obama addresses while evacuating Provisions in the john of the Showcase of SNiveLers, the fighters are able to figure out the stolen sentences and, thereby defeated, Melania grants them the keys to the Kingdom 5KR, a yacht which, in the reader's reality, her husband once owned (and renamed the Trump Princess), but in this world the alleged "man" still has in his possession in fact. As it is presently docked in the awful Apple, the Hero and Heroine are able to take it to the ultimate destination of their unforgettable epic, which is none other than Washington, D.C.

One should also hazard a last look at the beleaguered queen Melania and wish for better fortune for the lady in the next life. This author, for one, hopes himself that he may be able to comfort someone such as her in his own next emission of existence…as well as a ravishing one who resembles Ivanka…the ladies here in turn looking like the Cavewoman and the Sabretoothed Tiger Girl, respectively, in _Island of the Lizard King_ —and this author not minding if he were to have those temptresses as well in the next world, in addition to the boa-constricted Elf from _Deathtrap Dungeon_ , that sexy Hatchet Elf from the end of _The Forest of Doom_ , the Sylph Wife and Tornado Lady from _The Citadel of Chaos_ , the Mistress of the Birds from _Scorpion Swamp_ , Senyakhaz and the Margrave's Adopted Daughter (Steel Maiden) from _Beneath Nightmare Castle_ , the Snow Witch from the Wizard Cover of _Caverns of the Snow Witch_ , the "May I help you" Girl from _Freeway Fighter_ , Oriana from _Night of the Necromancer_ , Morgana from _Masks of Mayhem_ , Katya of Coppertown from _Batteryblade* Shitbags_ , Pia the Potioneer from _Eye of the Dragon_ (the FF one, not the Stephen King one (which is " _Eyes_ " really)), Max as well as the Bothered Barmaid from _Armies of Death_ , Amy Fletcher from _Blood of the Zombies_ (oh yes…very much Amy Fletcher please)…and this author also reserves the right to supplement this prospective checklist with further entries as he continues to read on with this series.

*Said Blade takes two Double-A Emeralds in order to operate properly; attempts at using a pair of Triple-A Jets, a Diamond D-Cell, or a Lithium Ruby will cause the Arm of Telak to fail in its functionality.

(Sorry, that sucked.)

 **SEGMENT FIVE: THE HOUSE OF HAIR FUROR (WASHINGTON DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA)**

Through the briny beaches of the Chesapeake arrive the Hero and Heroine as of now, their Provisions almost depleted and their morale even more spent, the two having trudged across so many sadscapes of Allamurica.

After defeating some members of the Grand Old Party (heretofore known as "Goppies," just like the appellation similar to so many enemies from House of the Zombies), and then requisitioning a lovely Hummer from their ranks, the two burn rubber until they reach the unspeakable hideout of horrors housing their tumorous target.

Eerie does it seem to the swordwielding soldiers that no one is around to greet them upon entering; unbeknownst to them, so many had been terminated from employment that the House is virtually empty, save for the lurid leader himself and two interlopers from the opposition party.

Eacnuinge and Fraomaere alike are chilled to the Quimmellest of Bones upon hearing the softest click behind them when entering into one room. Taunting them from behind a wingbacked chair is one of the vilest villainous vampires of modern media, a monster who similarly locked women victims in his NBC office, then bent them over to have his way with them.

"I'll take this one on myself," says Eacnuinge as she readies to bury her mattock into the meat of the Matt before her.

COUNT LAUER

Stamina: 5

Unforgivability: Only the women this vampire affected can possibly ever know

After driving the handle of her pickaxe into the heart of the hateful horrid thing before her, Eacnuinge fell to her knees, weeping for the women who were hurt so badly. Placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, Fraoemare nods to her, signifying unspokenly that it will be his turn for the next one.

Fraoemare finds himself in a kitchen from which it appears there is no escape upon entry, just as it was with the last room as well. For some reason, there are papers on a "cooker" (UK-ese for "stove top") which the Hero feels tempted to take—yet he knows better as, for certain, either the stove or the documents' contents will ultimately burn him.

From the pantry nearby emerges the one remaining staple sentry of these Fighting Fantasy books (other than spiders and vampires). Before the brazen battler is a brash banshee indeed, one who lost touch with her femininity long ago, one who embraced backbiting to the point that she even, come to think of it, had so abandoned her humanity years back as well. Her antics causing much stress and even suicides in her wake (look up, for example, Vince Foster on the nets), this flesh eater, still seeking sources of power in the House of Hair Furor, cannot be allowed to persist on the path of destruction and decay she has forged.

GHOULLARY CLINTON

Stamina: 10

Sketchiness: Classified

Even though the literal fall of this fright causes all sorts of pots and pans to clatter, thus bringing in countless Goppies, Fraoemare is so triggered by all he has seen that he goes into a homicidal haze, he almost taken down himself by some suits behind him when Eacnuinge reemerges to assist.

Clumps and clusters of conservative corpses cluttered behind them, the two break into the dining area, where their enormous enemy dines upon one of his honest to goodness favorites—an Egg McMuffin. Unknown to him, however, the Heroine had, while taking a break from battle in the last round involving Ghoullary herself, utilized that weird scone periodical given her in Florida—it called MAGUFFIN, a portmanteau of "Magazine" and "Muffin"—to concoct indeed a poison which would render their enemy less than invincible. Indeed, just as with so many other Fighting Fantasy books, the Hero and Heroine here needed that one obscure, random ass item, that maguffin to be sure, in order to prevail and not perish.

And now said enemy stands before them both here now, he ready to fire them both…into the Exosphere, if he is to have his way as always.

DER TRUMPESTER

Stamina: 60 (As reduced from basically Invincible)

Competence: -666

What ends up helping the pair of paladins as well here is that the Hero, while in one corner of the Wall back in Texas, came upon the Crisscross Knife—a blade intended for shredding so many compositions of collusion—and this too manages to reduce the life of the Donald by ten with each strike. Soon Fraoemare and Eacnuinge are able to take down the dreaded leader they sought out…

…though, of course, as in the _House of Hell_ itself, the real Master lurks in another body, but one far away…mired most sinisterly in Moscow…

…and, to boot, the two warriors will soon find themselves met with a new horror of insuperable strength and sovereignty…one which even they will not be likely to trounce.

TO BE CONCLUDED (JUST AN EPILOGUE AND ALL REALLY)


	3. Chapter 3

DEATHTRAP DONALD: AMERICA'S FAILING FANTASY

By Quillon42

 **EPILOGUES FOR ALL THE PARTIES INVOLVED**

Thusly emerging victorious and vindicated from having survived such a nightmare of a nation, Eacnuinge and Fraoemare turned to one another for celebration and for comfort. It was in no time that each found the self in the other's arms, then intertwined between the other's legs. The Hero inserting his Slave into the Heroine's Abyss, the Hero delving with his Dagger into the Heroine's Darkness, the Hero conquering with his Tower of Destruction upon the Heroine's Chasms of Malice (and Arousal also).

It was just as the pair was recovering from such a sultry tryst in fact, that they were beset by an international army, largely composed of the constituents to which Ian Livingstone and UK Steve Jackson (as opposed to US Steve Jackson, who did the diabolical _Scorpion Swamp_ and _Robot Commando_ ), had pertained. Each of these invaders was brandishing a banner containing the likenesses of a Lily-White Prince and his mulatto mistress.

"All must surrender total attention, allegiance, and dignity to the coming of the new deity!"

"God must no longer save the Queen, but rather Godself as a new divinity is about to debut!"

"MMXVIII does not stand for 2018, but rather it signifies 'Meghan Markle The Christ* Versus The Trinity,' indicating the deposing of the Christian God in the name of this _Suits_ alumnus and Heir Most Obviously Apparent to the Throne!"

(*As scholars such as this author are well aware, the letter "X" or Chi in Greek has symbolized The Christ…which is certainly not diminished in the wake of the indisputable goddesshood that is this fucking American actress).

But seriously, now Eacnuinge and Fraoemare raise their swords not to aggress but rather to defend, really more or less in vain, as the Marklebees close in, on these champions and on the rest of the multiverse, the fervent followers readily referring to their canny celestial even in effing verb form as they continue to live their listless lives worshipping this posh and poxy prince/ss pairing…

"Ask not what your country can MEGHAN MARKLE for you, but what you can MEGHAN MARKLE for your country."

"Baby, we've been together for three years now, and I know in my heart that you're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with." (Gets down on bended knee). "Will you MEGHAN MARKLE me?"

"Recently I sprained my wrist, so last night I had to MEGHAN MARKLE with my other hand."

MEGHAN MARKLE MINISTRY MILITIA MILLIONS

Stamina: Immeasurable

Insufferableness: Infinite

…

…

…

As for this author herein, it turns out he has escaped the multitude of Marklelomaniacs through an untimely death, as the utter awesomeness of this entire epic has worn him from the constraints of this mortal coil.

He has thus been narrating, at least since the last couple of segments above, from beyond the grave in fact. (It's like _Sunset Boulevard_ or some shit.)

Now this author looks all around for his coterie of choice-book cuties, for his group of game-volume galpals. But nowhere to be seen now is Amy Fletcher indeed, nor Potion Pia, nor any of these other amorous ones whom he so anticipated.

Indeed, this author realizes too late upon the sound of so many hurrying legs too heavy to be the spryest and sallowest of the thighs he had hoped for…he is not destined to meet in this afterlife with a bevy of such beautiful Gypsies…but instead a battalion of bellicose _**GI-SPI**_ s…

This author's adventure unfortunately ends there.


End file.
